Stories with Tragic Endings
by afeverdream
Summary: No story book ending for this fairy tale of you.
1. I can give you freedom from your guilt

**I own nothing in the Inglorious Basterds world. Would I be writing this at 3 am if I did, nope probably not. This was inspired by an amazing still from movie and a new lj friend who planted the idea of Cinderella and just how messed up the Grimm Brothers where in my head. The title and chapter names are all credit to FATA.**

"_Little tree, little tree shake over me,_

_That silver and gold may come down and cover me."_

The stupid rhyme kept running through her head; after all these years the little fairytale her mother told before kissing her forehead and switching off her light, came back to haunt her. Such folly, thinking back to the easy days when walking home from pastures she would create fantasy worlds in the clouds slowly moving above her head. Shaking her head trying to clear away the still painful memories, she finally let the fog overtake her.

One day a prince would be seen riding a sleek magnificent black beast. So dashing and handsome, she knew one day he would come. He, him, the nameless savior of the stories she told herself and brother to pass the dull days. He would sweep her away from a life preordained to be dull, filled only with local festivals and holidays. She shuddered at the thought of attending them with the local farm hands and let her thoughts turn back to her white knight. Walking through the meadows where the wildflowers perfumed the air she tried imaging his face. It still escaped her as always; so she compared him to her favorite story as a child, from the huge tome her grandfather had left filled to the brim with stories detailing roving trolls, princesses to smart and cunning for their own good, little grotesque men stealing innocent babes from cribs and princes both fair and dark pushing through barriers that nature itself set up to destroy them. Her favorites were the ones where the ones with girls in disguise, just like her. She especially loved the little cinder girl and when she was smaller her mother would catch her playing near the big fireplace in the kitchen. She'd be scolded, thwacked on the bottom and told to clean up. But still her mamma would sing her the little songs from the story each night. Her mother always curious why her eldest child loved those stories so much, they all had a darker edge to them filled with severe trials and almost disturbing occurrences. Thinking about her father she remembered being told once that without these cruelties no one would actually appreciate the treasure that was life.

Even when the persecutions started she still latched onto hope, it wasn't like her family and the others in the sleepy village were really the strictest their religious duties. They all observed the Sabbath and proper holidays, ate the proper food but that was about it. None of the neighbors cared and treated them the same. Anyway the village was barely on a map, why would the Germans actually want anything to do with them. But slowly the attitudes changed, the shadow of the Reich began to stretch and finally settled over their home. Mamma no longer hummed little tunes Grandpere taught her. Papa no longer laughed and smoked his pipe at night. Her brother even quieted his endless questions. Her stories once a source of entertainment; where deemed silly and inappropriate. She asked her mother one day if she thought they would be safe since mamma wasn't actually born a Jew. Her mother paused," Little one if there is nothing those fanatics hate more than the people they persecute: are the ones who willing align themselves with those who are damned." Never before had her mother spoken to her so plainly and from the look in her eyes she knew it was time to put away childish stories and idealism's.

The hunts soon began and the little family had to abandon all they knew, the house with its huge fireplace and comfy bright rooms to the book that brought so much comfort in long winter months and quiet summer evenings. They had to siphon of the kindness of neighbors, asking them to risk their own lives while they lay in wait for deaths footsteps to creak above them. At this time she greatly missed the life she threw away to wishes sung to clouds. Her tears leaking back to mingle in the grime coating her hair from the crawl space they groveled in.

Those steps came on day that seemed to soon but still so far away. She listened to the man speak in light French and prayed that the farmer would be strong. As she held her hands over her mouth she thought back to silly times and begged for that prince to now come and rescue her. Or there was tree that was able to magically dispense disguises for her and her family's use. Still they all listened as the language slipped away from their native tongue, this investigator known as Hans Landa finding out all he needed as the farmer silently broke. Her father holding mamma while her brother clutched onto her, they listened to the steps tapping out doom above them. Then silence. The earth shattered her parent's eyes wide open and staring at nothing and her brother's skull bleeding beside her. So she fled as fast as she could, pushing herself through the crawlspace like a person buried alive feeling the heat as the soldiers set fire to the farmhouse. Her eyes stung with smoke and sunlight they had not seen for days. She pressed her already fragile body to run, stumbling she turned by a huge black car. It sat sleek and shining, the flames dancing in the reflection. She ran faster still and heard the shout behind her, her name echoing in the pasture as clouds moved across the sky ignorant of the girl that used to dance and sing in their shadows. That was all she had left, shadows of days filled with happy dreams and songs, pipe smoke still curling in her nose mixed in the with stink of her loved ones burning away to ash. Now she really was the little cinder girl, lost and alone depending on the kindness of others.

She was lucky and found a home in a city too big to give up all its secrets. She was given a new name and life. To this life she adapted most readily. Learned all she could about film, it was almost like her grand book from back home. Gilt figures enacted make believe stories and epic battles. The only difference being the happy endings weren't won by pain and sacrifice. Still she sweated and toiled in the little cinema, learning to be happy with what she forged for herself. Sometimes alone in her little apartment with the white walls and high ceilings, she'd dream of a prince riding a sleek black beast. Waking up she'd pour a glass of wine and reflect on what she's become, a lost little girl still wishing for fairytales to be real. Surrounded by books filled with tales from around the world and prints on the walls of lands she will most liking never visit, she could still smell the meadows of youth that physically wasn't very far away. These thoughts drove her to walk in the late night, the trees on the streets below her windows shaking silver and gold on her as she walked in solitude, trying to find answers and a shoe that fit her again. Clouds are again her companions as she dreams up half stories to console herself, almost wishing for that prince to ride down the street she haunted. What kept her up was the fact he was starting to solidify in her mind.

He resembled a man she watched in her nocturnal wanderings. Her mind softened by the wine meant to help her sleep. He would still be awake when she passed underneath the wrought iron balcony to his adobe. She walked under it on a daily basis; it was to and from the theater. Perhaps it was the long way but throughout all the seasons this route afforded her the most pleasant diversions. She knew he left early since she never passed by till later in the morning. The cinema owner business afforded late mornings and even later nights. Apparently as did his business, on her way home she'd see him reading or note taking with a cup of something hot and a cigarette burning low besides him. During the hotter months he would be out on the veranda still working but taking in the sounds around him. And still later at night she would catch glimpses of him actually relaxing, sitting again outside or by the windows with strains of faint music wafting in the air. His late night attire consisting of nothing more than the pants he slept in. She would see the outline of muscles as he moved to change the record or walk to another room to refill his drink. She would keep to the shadows never letting him see her, even though she always felt as though she was intruding on something extremely private. This seemed like it was the only time he ever let himself truly relax. But she couldn't stop herself, the nights when she could actually sleep felt empty. It was as though she really couldn't call an end to her day unless she saw him with his eyes closed and the lamplight turning his hair in to the same color as the molten liquor he held in his hand as he listened to whatever the night had to offer him.

Her dream prince reflected these moments and man; after he carried her away they would always end up in a large room with distant music wafting in the air. Amber hair brushing against her check as he bent down to kiss it, her finger digging into the firm muscle of his upper arms. Waking up she would always wonder if by chance she would actually converse with him that day or week. Lately after working, when she passed by his residence she'd glance up and see him outside and he'd lift his hand to her. Maybe he wasn't so buried in his work as she thought and watched the people along his street as a diversion.

What she didn't expect was to see a phantom from her childhood parked along the street as she walked to the theater later in the week. It was still just as midnight black and sleek as she remembered, only this time reflecting her now honey colored hair and less mystified eyes. As much as she wanted to run she schooled herself to merely stroll by as if huge expensive vehicles during wartime meant nothing more than an early afternoon tea. Only a few hours later she passed by it again. Having made some excuse that she was preoccupied to the only other person employed she made her way home, stopping to retrieve some dinner and thinking that she really shouldn't encourage the projectionist's endearments. He was too chivalrous, too ready to please and charge into a battle he had no hope of winning. Too much of a modern day fairytale ideal for princes, no hers needed restraint and the ability to access the situation before formulating a plan fit for total annihilation of whatever threat loomed over them. Marcel ment well, he just wasn't right for her and for that she felt guilty for even giving him the idea she was in want of his affections. She was shaken out of this reverie by the sight of the black car, still parked in its silent stance just waiting for it master's touch to smoothly move along Paris's winding streets.

Stepping around it, she tripped and dropped her parcels, apples a treat to herself rolling away. While collecting her runaway items, she heard precise measured steps behind her. They stopped and she felt a solid warmth by her elbow, turning she looked into eyes that blended from a blend from blue and green deep enough to drown in to a tawny brown sparking with a fire that burned her. Her own eyes trailing from his to the slight creases at the corners of those hypnotic orbs, landing on an aristocratic nose and focusing lastly on a smile that would falter the ones gracing cherubs in the Louvre. Her hands shook as he helped locate errand parcels, and a voice much unexpected yet very familiar asking if she was alright and not injured in anyway.

She answered quietly that she was fine and apologized for taking up his time. He was dressed in his full uniform. Every cut and line accenting what the moonlight had already shown her for months. She stepped around him and hurried down the street, never noticing him watch her still she rounded the corner. Her own apartments a few blocks where located a few blocks from there, and she quickly moved down them and up the steps to the safety of her books and lofty ceilings. Dazedly she sat at her little table, the realization that her midnight prince was the one man that broke her world apart with a few simple utterances to those under his command. Yet she wouldn't have it any other way, it made sense as she rolled an apple between her hands. He knew of her past persona and know looked onto the current one. One life traded for another at a pricey cost and he had granted her original wish. He rode in on a sleek black steed and managed to aid her in the escape of a life she felt no part of.

She felt the way his eyes bore into her that he could see the cinder dust she has collected throughout the years, wipe away all the past hurts and aches. See through the disguise and she indeed wasn't something to be marked off in a file. Still dwelling on these thoughts she went about her routine and soon it turned into the time she pretended to sleep. After only about an hour she got back up and dressed again, locked her door and started her nighttime vigil. Starting out on a different street she walked till his was the last before she turned for home. His lights where on signaling another late night for him even though to her it seemed as though his day had been plenty full. If it where her she'd would have actually been exhausted enough her mind wouldn't need this strange obsession. After the shock of the day, she only let herself glance up content with the idea that seeing him walk around or his profile relaxed would ease her mind. She saw nothing and quickened her pace, only for the second time in twelve hours to run abruptly into the person that now constantly haunted her thoughts. Smiling at her he offered to walk her home. Her stuttering reply giving him the satisfaction he had indeed disarmed her. As they both moved through the quiet night he asked her small questions, who she was and what did she do. She answered the same way as she had to everyone else the past few years, she was Emmanuelle and ran a local theater house left to her by her deceased aunt. She remembered his talent at uncovering hidden truths but decided that he needn't be privy to who she actually was yet. The prince could still turn out to be the villain after all. Grandpere's book taught her that much, never take first appearances as basic truth. It will always lead to your downfall and make the path you travel that more perilous. He walked with her up the steps and stopped at her doorway.

He paused and brushed away a stray hair from her face. He leaned in and invited her to dine with him tomorrow night. With his boyish smile he even confessed that he'd been in fact watching her walk so late at night and took comfort in seeing her pass by his home. The nights when she didn't caused him to wonder if she was feeling well. The man before her dressed in simple civilian clothes presented her with a far more intimidating image. At least in the uniform he had to play a role in the story, now he was a mystery she wasn't quite sure she was willing to unravel. In a split second decision she agreed, her body humming with delight as he let his smile reach his eyes. Knowing she brought him that sort of pleasure she became a willing participant and the game life just rolled her. He told her he would come her around seven and to dress a bit more feminine than now, laughing he said as adorable as he thought she looked right now; she needed at least a nice summer dress. Grinning shyly back, she murmured that she indeed had a few. Ducking into her apartment she softly closed the door and stood behind it in amazement, knowing she very well could have just signed a deal with the devil himself by agreeing to be in the very presence of the man that terrorized her village and ordered the slaughter of her family. Yet she couldn't judge him on these actions, for all she knew he was wishing these acts never had been committed and his talents put to use elsewhere. Or at least she could save him from turning into a monster that fate deem him to be. She fell into bed and welcomed with open arms and a blissful smile sleep.

Landa stood outside the door to the quaint apartment, when she had slipped inside he caught a glimpse of books and small items. It wasn't enough of a taste to satisfy his curiosity, this girl that walked the boulevards after curfew to watch him from lengthy shadows and cloud cover. Emmanuelle wasn't her real name; he had watched her enough to recognize the curve of her back and shape of her calf to remember the young girl that ran from him so many years ago. Something made him pause that day, not really understanding what it was he laughed it off to his men and mentioned something about another day and another time. The honeyed hair suited her and her eyes told him she knew exactly who he was and she never blinked in fear of him. Oh she reacted with shock and surprise but never the paralyzed fear most people showed him, afraid that if they didn't smile and react just the way they thought he would like; he would magically discover the darkest secrets they harbored and display them for the world to gloat upon. When he made the connection as to who in fact she was (he had after all discreetly asked around as to who people thought she was), he felt no desire to spring upon her and let her join her family in whatever afterlife he was assigned to push them towards. He wanted to see what life she had built for herself here far away from the rustic villages that never really change with the moving centuries. Maybe after then his innate curiosity would be extinguished and he would continue without nightly distraction peering at him and crawling unbidden into his mind as to what her skin might taste like under his lips. He quickly changed his mind at the thought of her only being a partial amusement. She left him a shoe when she ran from him, and he wanted to see if it fit her. No woman so far could match what he wanted, always meek and subversive never rising to the challenges he set forth. He wanted to see if she could hold up and maybe save him from himself. Too many years alone has sent him on a path he never felt easy on in the first place. She might just be the beacon to draw to the one meant solely for him and not marked by the ignorance of madmen. Shosanna was presenting herself to be a very interesting creature.

"_There they go, there they go!_

_There is blood on her shoe;_

_The shoe is too small,_

_Not the right bride at all."_

Now he only needs to wait and see if the little rhymes from so long ago would tell him the truth.


	2. Another Imprint In Borrowed Clothes

**Hi, I'm sorry I haven't updated in a very very long time. Long story short my external drive that had all my stories on it dies, in a fiery burning angry death. Then I really didn't feel like writing anymore, but then Belka started translating her beautiful story, Study in Gray. It's a must read because it captures the feel of post WWII from the axis stand point so well. Also I want to thank Grappling Fancies for the review left for me last night. You really touched me and made me think all night and day at work how I could work on this. I got home and proceed to start and finish this chapter and I'm quite pleased with it. So thank for the inspiration and the faith to want to see more. I know I play with fairytales and such but there were actual humans trying survive and find happiness on both sides. Some people really were trying to escape what Germany had become. They hoped for something better and the SS and Hitler took their dreams of a better future and destroyed it. Thank for being able to see that Landa was a monster but he still was human somewhat. **

**Plus Christoph Waltz perfected that part of him. Along Melaine Laurent, she was the epitome of survival as Shoshanna but still willing to sacrifice the haven she created.**

**Again I do not own any part of these characters. But I do own a ton of books of folklore and fairytales from around the world. Including the complete Grimm fairytales that hurts when you drop it on your foot; as I found out moving three bookshelves last week.**

She trembled. Her body danced and trembled to its own excited tune only her muscles could hear. Shoshanna couldn't decide how she truly felt about this dinner with her dark prince. Should she be afraid that it may be her invitation to death or maybe it was her time to sit fresh faced and scrubbed upon a little stool and have a lost slipper slipped onto her foot justifying validity of survival? Either way she was hard pressed as to what she was going to wear.

She closed the movie house early that day citing the need for repairs and renovations to her film collection. Which was a lie, Shoshanna meticulously filed everything on New Year's Day. It's a fresh beginning, and even though it was time to start anew sometime you need to look back to take a step forward. With that though lingering she smirked to herself. Even though Landa's voice faintly whispered above her ear, repeating a conversation that lead to the very shattering of her central core of familiarity she did not pass judgment. What did she know of his life before this mess of grandeur conceived by a megalomaniac? War was war and she had seen too many boys of both sides haunting her city and theatre looking for a sense of belonging. She knew he had to be heartless to be able to accomplish what he had done. One could not rise to his level only to be play acting. Maybe he believed he was eradicating filth and disease but maybe he did it for his own survival instincts. Better to be a predator and show your teeth than to flash your belly and hope the alpha doesn't rip it open. Landa was proving that he had his own agenda and maybe this was his way to an end. A stepping stone to a grander scheme, her smirk then filled into a full grin as she realized she would be going up against an alpha herself.

Now she just needed to decide what would suit her trial best. Demure and soft or bold and straight forward? Sighing she thought it best to blend the two. Show she would be willing to bend but there would be no breaking point and she could survive. Thankfully she had the ability to sew. One good little housewife trait she retained. It made clothing an easier option. She could modify men's clothing to fit her sylph like frame and create a parody of the fashions houses she spied at on her walks. It was definitely a cheaper and more practical option. It also afforded her the luxuries she's rather indulged in. Food, books, film and wine made her happy in their simplicity. Why should she care what nametag was attached to her while she enjoyed them. Clothing couldn't feel the headiness that filled her head as the last glass of a Barolo let its deep cherry taste linger down her throat. Nor could it make her heart beat with the adventures laid out before her eyes in film and on the pages before her eyes. Now she only wanted it to cover a story mapped out before Herr Landa. Granted it need to be an attractive covering, but she understood it was something he would remove to read the pages within.

Landa sat inside the Bistro sipping on the water downed wine the owner brought to him. Times were tough and he knew this simple fair was the best the owner had to offer him. He didn't pick the typical ambient dining the SS preferred. He never enjoyed going to those dining mausoleums where craft food was served that was too heavy for his palate. To him refined taste did not equate itself with gaudy trash presented to look like a bear crapped on his plate and named it a delicatessen dish that was whimsy on his taste buds. And the food did taste exactly like that. Here was fresh much like Shoshanna. Simple and comfortable in a time of upheaval, rare to find and something to be adored. Maybe he would invest in this place at least broaden its wine menu to become a pleasant adobe to treasure hunters like himself. Hans realized his thoughts had wandered a bit far from him when a slight shadow crossed the glass in front of him. Glancing up through long lashes, he let out a boyish grin. There she was dressed in a light butter yellow blouse that clung and yet flowed from her body, her slim hips draped with a skirt that went slightly below her knees colored like young moss. Her feet clad in simple flats showing off the arch in her foot and lightness of step. Her hair was wrapped around her head in a braid, the softness of a few tendrils framing her face making it even more open and sweet to him. He could see the amusement dancing in her eyes; she must have been there for a time observing him in his daydream. Then again he thought ruefully, she did have privy in her nocturnal wanderings too be able to watch him.

"Please sit down my dear, enlighten me with the reason to what laughter seems to begging to be released." His boyish charm causing to her to laugh out loud in answer to his invitation.

She answered sweetly, "You looked like a master conducting his orchestra. Plotting when certain arrangements should be showcased."

Landa laughed along with Shoshanna and could see it caused a shiver to snake down her spine. He may act boyish and slightly disarming but he knew exactly what he could do to women. She only delighted him more in the fact she wasn't a puddle already at his feet. He signaled to his waiter to please see what the lady required to refresh herself. The evening was hot and even though he thought it made her look all the more like a dewy flower, she was slightly wilting from the summer heat. Shoshanna asked only for some lemonade. He quirked his eyebrow at her making her state," I have a better wine selection at home. But I stop here often to enjoy a quiet place. Everything is fresh and homemade and I'd rather take my choices from what has been produced. When I first arrived in Paris this was the closest place to home." Landa's smile slipped slightly, she only looked him in the eye letting him know she knew he saw her for who she really was. She only took the hand that was resting next to his glass. Gently stroking his skin she murmured, " I knew it would be useless to hid from you. You're the Jew Hunter for a reason. Nothing escapes your notice and I knew that one night you'd catch a glimpse of me walking away. I have grown but my body hasn't changed that much from the girl I was. "Shoshanna still looked him in the eye and he could see the small trace of pain and fear in the back of the deep depths.

"I still want to thank you, I miss my family and love them very much but still thank you for freeing me from a life that would have killed me. You gave me chance to fight and be born again. I burned but came out stronger. I have no illusions to what you do or any sympathy. You are what are and maybe a different time or life you would be charged with the tasks you have but we are here and now. I want to enjoy what I can." Shoshanna's declaration finished and still she stroked his skin. He was almost hypnotized by the motion and his answer came out in almost a drugged form. "Then my darling Shoshanna we will enjoy it to its fullest potential." His eyes gleamed in the fading sunlight; he had chosen to sit on the veranda overlooking the river. The little bistro was between their both respected abodes and he was pleased she shared the same affection for it.

They stayed for awhile, dinner was not hurried and they shared stories of the past. Her tales of the farm, granpere and his book, her silly dreams and mock battles with the cows and her brother. He regaled her with visions of Austria and the village he grew up in and the hard times that forced his family apart. He looked a little sad speaking of his mother and the little sister that died so young in the snow one very long winter ago. It was then he left for Berlin because he heard stories and promises of a better life and future. He told her he did feel the irony of the situation, it was better to survive and he was a master at survivalism. And as she suspected he confessed this was a means to an end , his hazel eyes burning into hers, this was not the path ment for him it was a false promise and he did not like being betrayed. His father taught him that lesson early when he left one morning, leaving him to care for his mother and golden haired little sister. He would have given her a glass coffin that when the lid was lifted, a kingdom emerged. If only to see her smile and laugh once more.

The night moved on and so did they, walking toward Shoshanna's apartment. Casual touches and gentle caresses started. She led him to her sanctuary of high ceilings and faraway places. He untwined her braid as she poured them some better wine than enjoyed at the bistro. He captivated by the easy willingness she had in his presence. She accepted and moved on; she like him knew how to survive. And that was all that matter. He worked he way down her throat, moving his mouth along the trail her last sip of wine took. Softly brushing her collarbones and nestling between the upper buttons of her blouse. How something could fit so well in these times confounded him, a movie house owner could not afford a personal seamstress in war torn times much less profitable ones. The frivolous thought was pushed away as she placed those fingers that danced on his hand earlier in his hair. They tugged and scratched as he slipped her now unbuttoned shirt onto the kitchen floor. Her perky breasts where not hidden by some contraption of an undergarment. Landa sent a silent prayer of thanks up to the heavens for that gift. Both of their hands made short work of the clothing that covered them and he looked at his prize standing before him in the dimly little kitchen. So many pages to turn and find what made her gasp or writhe. So many mysteries to reread and find a new outcome in the end. He knew her story was not one he was ever going to be tired of reading. Every time he opened this limited run novel would be like the first, and he delighted in the fact he was the one she chose to offer it to. He wasn't a fool and he did his research before he sent out his invitation. She may have dated as a pastime here and there but there was no one she was emotionally invested in as hard as her projectionist might try to prove his worth. Marcel has never slayed dragons and given the heads as prizes to the object of his affection.

Morning came and found the two entwined licking skin and moving in the lazy sunrise. The time was limited, she had to return to her little theatre and he to his black horse waiting to take him to the beast he must conquer. The time spent apart would not be torturous, waiting only made the elements of being together that much sweeter and stronger. Such was life and they both knew the facts. He would be Straunhauser Landa and she was simple Emanuelle. They would play the parts expected and wait patiently for the day they would build their own kingdom.

Shoshanna sent him away with a lingering kiss and as she walked by his apartment later she glanced up, smirking thinking that soon his bed would be the place she'd awake in. The night would be spent listening to the music he held so dear and she would taste his favored honey liquor from his lips and walk to work the next morning with him still between her thighs. She almost skipped down the street like a school girl; she settled a gaiety in her stride.

Later that evening while she took down the most resent marquee, she heard a noise behind her. Turning and looking down she expected Hans but was wary to the young earnest face peering up at her. War hero Fredrick Zoeller, so bright in burning was chattering away at her. All she felt was the loss that it was wasn't Landa come to surprise her. Her attention turned back to the slightly hyper active boy when he started to pry just a bit too much. After a banter involving her very real but fake papers and his clearly apparent fasciations with her, she left him and returned to the inside of her now blessed sanctuary. Waiting an hour or so she walked quickly, she paused under the balcony of Landa's and stepping out into the streetlight she turned hoping he would be outside. He was and catching the haunted look on her face he got only to remerge at the entrance and beckoned her inside. She let the story of the encounter slip and held her, guarded her against this now strange threat. He soothed away her fears and danced with her across the hardwood floors. He sang lullabies remembered from childhood in a lilting voice that had her eyes dropping only to shoot open when he began to administer nips and bites between verses. He made her laugh and sing to him and repeat stories of girls with dancing red shoes and grandmamas swallowed whole into the belly of wolves. The passed the night this way and he woke her to take her to breakfast then he escorted her himself to the theatre, she had confessed the night before there was a little apartment there where her 'aunt' lived and she could bathe and change.

Today was a day he had off but he would spend it looking into hero Zoeller. None threatened to take away what was his and he would be damned if he wouldn't strangle Goebbels prized lapdog with his own hands if he so much looked at Shoshanna cross eyed.

Much to Landa's surprise when he walked into one of the much despised restaurants the overstuffed and ready to be slaughtered swine of the elite flocked to, was seating in the belly of the beast but his Shoshanna. She met his eyes and both agreed to play the predestined roles of cat and mouse. He ment to intimidate her while she cowered at his reputation, both were sick of the farce presented before them. Landa had never wanted to burn out the eyes of someone so much as Zoeller right then. The stupid boy grinning like he had given cake along with fifty virgins to have his way with. He fantasized about taking Shoshanna's cigarette and jamming in into his right eye then taking the object of Zoeller's obsession and fucking her in front of his good eye. Idelly he wondered if Shoshanna would enjoy that idea or if 'Emanuelle' would be mortified. He settled Shoshanna would laugh and whisper he should save the idea of sex for later when she could focus and 'Emanuelle' would gasp tremble and meekly ask to leave. All in all it made the situation tolerable, after all Fredrick had no idea he and Shoshanna shared so much more than that child's brain could comprehend. He more than likely only though of making her belly plump with simple minded babies to crawl around his knees while he smoked a pipe filled with cheap tobacco. Shoshanna kicked at him under the table and he returned to focus on Goebbels's insane grating chatter. The man was unbearable and he could see Shoshanna's pride of a well-versed movie critic be grated upon. The plans were finalized and the mockery of the finest civilized minds left leaving the two to play their farce out for the day.

They parted quickly only to reunite at Shoshanna's, taking comfort in each the mapped and planned their escape. Time was whittling down and they knew the battle would be fought soon and all the players would be showing up. But for now they enjoyed each other, be it simply reading in each other presence or viewing a movie at the theatre. Traps were set and bombs started to tick. The story was almost finished.

The night before Goebbels's beloved premier, Shoshanna thought of the final part to the story of the little girl covered in cinders.

_There they go, there they go!_

_No blood on her shoe:_

_The shoe's not to small,_

_The right bride she is after all!_

Now the only part left to mount the black steed slay the dragon or behead the wolves at they're heels. How simple it sounds.


End file.
